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Authors: Arthur C. Clarke
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that controlled everyone in Diaspar— everyone except Alvin.
“I guessed it,” he said at last.
Jeserac settled down more comfortably in the depths of the chair he had just materialized. This was an interesting situation, and he wanted to analyze it as fully as possible. There was not much he could learn, however, unless Khedron was willing to co-operate.
He should have anticipated that Alvin would one day meet the Jester, with unpredictable consequences. Khedron was the only other person in the city who could be called eccentric— and even his eccentricity had been planned by the designers of Diaspar. Long ago it had been discovered that without some crime or disorder, Utopia soon became unbearably dull. Crime, however, from the nature of things, could not be guaranteed to remain at the optimum level which the social equation demanded. If it was licensed and regulated, it ceased to be crime.
The office of Jester was the solution— as first sight naïve, yet actually profoundly subtle— which the city’s designers had evolved. In all the history of Diaspar there were less than two hundred persons whose mental inheritance fitted them for this peculiar role. They had certain privileges that protected them from the consequences of their actions, though there had been Jesters who had overstepped the mark and paid the only penalty that Diaspar could impose— that of being banished into the future before their current incarnation had ended.
On rare and unforeseeable occasions, the Jester would turn the city upside-down by some prank which might be no more than an elaborate practical joke, or which might be a calculated assault on some currently cherished belief or way of life. All things considered, the name “Jester” was a highly appropriate one. There had once been men with very similar duties, operating with the same license, in the days when there were courts and kings.
“It will help,” said Jeserac, “if we are frank with one another. We both know that Alvin is a Unique— that he has never experienced any earlier life in Diaspar. Perhaps you can guess, better than I can, the implications of that. I doubt if anything that happens in the city is totally unplanned, so there must be a purpose in his creation. Whether he will achieve that purpose— whatever it is— I do not know. Nor do I know whether it is good or bad. I cannot guess what it is.”
“Suppose it concerns something external to the city?”
Jeserac smiled patiently; the Jester was having his little joke, as was only to be expected.
“I have told him what lies there; he knows that there is nothing outside Diaspar except the desert. Take him there if you can; perhaps you know a way. When he sees the reality, it may cure the strangeness in his mind.”
“I think he has already seen it,” said Khedron softly. But he said it to himself, and not to Jeserac.
“I do not believe that Alvin is happy,” Jeserac continued. “He has formed no real attachments, and it is hard to see how he can while he still suffers from this obsession. But after all, he is very young. He may grow out of this phase, and become part of the pattern of the city.”
Jeserac was talking to reassure himself; Khedron wondered if he really believed what he was saying.
“Tell me, Jeserac,” asked Khedron abruptly, “does Alvin know that he is not the first Unique?”
Jeserac looked startled, then a little defiant.
“I might have guessed,” he said ruefully, “that you would know that. How many Uniques have there been in the whole history of Diaspar? As many as ten?”
“Fourteen,” answered Khedron without hesitation. “Not counting Alvin.
“You have better information than I can command,” said Jeserac wryly. “Perhaps you can tell me what happened to those Uniques?”
“They disappeared.”
“Thank you: I knew that already. That is why I have told Alvin as little as possible about his predecessors: it would hardly help him in his present mood. Can
“I guessed it,” he said at last.
Jeserac settled down more comfortably in the depths of the chair he had just materialized. This was an interesting situation, and he wanted to analyze it as fully as possible. There was not much he could learn, however, unless Khedron was willing to co-operate.
He should have anticipated that Alvin would one day meet the Jester, with unpredictable consequences. Khedron was the only other person in the city who could be called eccentric— and even his eccentricity had been planned by the designers of Diaspar. Long ago it had been discovered that without some crime or disorder, Utopia soon became unbearably dull. Crime, however, from the nature of things, could not be guaranteed to remain at the optimum level which the social equation demanded. If it was licensed and regulated, it ceased to be crime.
The office of Jester was the solution— as first sight naïve, yet actually profoundly subtle— which the city’s designers had evolved. In all the history of Diaspar there were less than two hundred persons whose mental inheritance fitted them for this peculiar role. They had certain privileges that protected them from the consequences of their actions, though there had been Jesters who had overstepped the mark and paid the only penalty that Diaspar could impose— that of being banished into the future before their current incarnation had ended.
On rare and unforeseeable occasions, the Jester would turn the city upside-down by some prank which might be no more than an elaborate practical joke, or which might be a calculated assault on some currently cherished belief or way of life. All things considered, the name “Jester” was a highly appropriate one. There had once been men with very similar duties, operating with the same license, in the days when there were courts and kings.
“It will help,” said Jeserac, “if we are frank with one another. We both know that Alvin is a Unique— that he has never experienced any earlier life in Diaspar. Perhaps you can guess, better than I can, the implications of that. I doubt if anything that happens in the city is totally unplanned, so there must be a purpose in his creation. Whether he will achieve that purpose— whatever it is— I do not know. Nor do I know whether it is good or bad. I cannot guess what it is.”
“Suppose it concerns something external to the city?”
Jeserac smiled patiently; the Jester was having his little joke, as was only to be expected.
“I have told him what lies there; he knows that there is nothing outside Diaspar except the desert. Take him there if you can; perhaps you know a way. When he sees the reality, it may cure the strangeness in his mind.”
“I think he has already seen it,” said Khedron softly. But he said it to himself, and not to Jeserac.
“I do not believe that Alvin is happy,” Jeserac continued. “He has formed no real attachments, and it is hard to see how he can while he still suffers from this obsession. But after all, he is very young. He may grow out of this phase, and become part of the pattern of the city.”
Jeserac was talking to reassure himself; Khedron wondered if he really believed what he was saying.
“Tell me, Jeserac,” asked Khedron abruptly, “does Alvin know that he is not the first Unique?”
Jeserac looked startled, then a little defiant.
“I might have guessed,” he said ruefully, “that you would know that. How many Uniques have there been in the whole history of Diaspar? As many as ten?”
“Fourteen,” answered Khedron without hesitation. “Not counting Alvin.
“You have better information than I can command,” said Jeserac wryly. “Perhaps you can tell me what happened to those Uniques?”
“They disappeared.”
“Thank you: I knew that already. That is why I have told Alvin as little as possible about his predecessors: it would hardly help him in his present mood. Can
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